Knight of the Swords

  "A pretty theory," said Jhary almost grimly. "But I had nothing to do with the slaying of Hanafax and neither do I suffer from this guilt you people always speak of. I saw the figure first, Corum."

  "So you did. So you did." His head bowed, Corum stumbled through the door of the tower. From his mortal eye streamed tears.

  As Jhary closed the door behind them, Corum turned on the stairs and stared up at his friend.

  "Then what was it, Jhary?"

  "I know not, Corum."

  "But you know so much."

  "And I forget much. I am not a hero. I am a companion to heroes. I admire. I marvel. I offer sage advice which is rarely taken. I sympathize. I save lives. I express the fears heroes cannot express. I council caution . . ."

  "Enough, Jhary. Do you jest?"

  "I suppose I jest. I, too, am tired, my friend. I am tired of the company of gloomy heroes, of those who are doomed to terrible destinies—not to mention a lack of humor. I would have the company of ordinary men for a while. I would drink in taverns. Tell obscene stories. Fart.

  Lose my head to a doxie . . ."

  "Jhary! You do not jest! Why are you saying these things?"

  "Because I am weary of . . ." Jhary frowned. "Why, indeed, Prince Corum? It is not like me, at all. That carping voice—was mine!"

  "Aye. It was." Corum's frown matched Jhary's. "And I liked it not at all. Why, if you sought to provoke me, Jhary, then ..."

  "Wait!" Jhary raised his hand to his head. "Wait, Corum. I feel as if something seeks possession of my mind, seeks to turn me against my friends. Concentrate. Do you not feel the same thing?"

  Corum glared at Jhary for a moment and then his face lost its anger and became puzzled. "Aye. You are right. A kind of nagging shadow at the back of my head. It hints at hatred, contention. Is it the influence of the thing we saw on the hill?"

  Jhary shook his head. "Who knows? I apologize for my outburst. I do not believe that it was myself speaking to you."

  "I, too, apologize. Let us hope the shadow disappears."

  In thoughtful silence they descended to the main part of the castle. The walls were silvery, shimmering. It meant that the snow had begun to fall outside once more.

  Rhalina met them in one of the galleries where fountains and crystals sang softly a work by Corum's father, a love song to Corum's mother. It was soothing and Corum managed to smile at her.

  "Corum," she said. "A few moments ago I was seized with a strange fury. I cannot explain it. I was tempted to hit one of the retainers. I ..."

  He took her in his arms. He kissed her brow. "I know.

  Jhary and I experienced the same thing. I fear that Chaos works subtly in us, turning us against each other. We must resist such impulses. We must try to find their cause.

  Something wishes us to destroy one another, I think."

  There was horror in her eyes. "Oh, Corum ..."

  "We must resist," he said again.

  Jhary scratched his nose, himself once more. He raised an eyebrow. "I wonder if we are the only folk who suffer this—this possession. What if it has seized the whole land, Corum?"

  The Second Chapter

  The Sickness Spreads

  It was in the night that the worst thoughts came to Corum as he lay in bed beside Rhalina. Sometimes his visions were of his hated enemy Glandyth-a-Krae, but sometimes they were of Lord Arkyn of Law, whom he was now beginning to blame for all his hardships and miseries, and sometimes they were of Jhary-a-Conel, whose easy irony was now seen as facetious malice, and sometimes they were of Rhalina, whom he decided had snared him, directed him away from his true destiny. And these latter visions were the worst and he fought against them more fiercely even than the others. He would feel his face twist with hatred, his fingers clench, his lips snarl, his body shake with rage and a wish to destroy. All through the nights he would fight these terrible impulses and he knew that as he fought so did Rhalina—fighting the fury welling up inside her own head.

  Irrational fury—rage which had no purpose and yet which would focus on anything and seek to vent itself.

  Bloody visions. Visions of torturing and maiming worse than Glandyth had ever performed on him. And he was the torturer and those he tortured were those he loved most.

  Many a night he would awake shrieking. Crying aloud the single word, "No! No! No!" he would leap from his bed and glare down at Rhalina.

  And Rhalina would glare back.

  Rhalina's lips would curl away from her white teeth.

  Rhalina's nostrils would flare like those of a beast. And strange sounds would come from her throat.

  Then he would fight off the impulses and cry to her, remind her of what was happening to them. And they would lie in each other's arms, drained of emotion.

  The snow had begun to melt. It was as if, having brought the sickness of rage and malice, it could now leave. Corum rushed about in it one day, slashing at it with his naked sword and cursing it, blaming it for their ills.

  But Jhary was sure now that the snow had merely been a natural occurrence, a coincidence. He ran out to try to pacify his friend. He succeeded in making Corum lower his sword and sheath it. They stood shivering in the morning light, both half-clad.

  "And what of the shape on the hill?" Corum panted.

  "Was that coincidence, my friend?"

  "It could have been. I have a feeling that all these things happened at the same time because, perhaps, something else happened. These are hints. Do you understand me?"

  Corum shrugged and wrenched his arm away from Jhary's grasp. "A larger event? Is that what you mean?"

  "Aye. A larger event."

  "Is not what is happening to us already sufficiently unpleasant?"

  "Aye. It is."

  Corum saw that his friend was humoring him. He tried to smile. A sense of exhaustion filled him. All his energy was going to battle his own terrible desires. He wiped his brow with the back of his right hand.

  "There must be something which can help us. I fear—I fear . . ."

  "We all fear, Prince Corum."

  "I fear I'll slay Rhalina one night. I do, Jhary."

  "We had best take to living apart, locking ourselves in our rooms. The retainers also are suffering as badly as we."

  "I have noticed."

  "They, too, must be separated. Shall I tell them?"

  Corum fingered the pommel of his sword and his red-rimmed left eye had a wide, staring look. "Aye," he said absently. "Tell them."

  "And you will do the same, Corum? I am even now trying to concoct a potion—something which will calm us and make sure we do not harm each other. Doubtless it will make us less alert, but that is better than killing ourselves."

  "Killing? Aye." Corum stared at Jhary. The dandy's silk jerkin offended him, though not long since he had thought he admired it. And the man's face had an expression on it.

  What was it? Mocking? Why was Jhary mocking him?

  "Why do you—?" He broke off, realizing that he was once again possessed. "We must leave Castle Erorn," he said. "Perhaps some—some ghost inhabits it now. Some evil force left behind by Glandyth. That is possible, Jhary, for I have heard of such things."

  Jhary looked skeptical.

  "It is a possibility!" Corum yelled. Why was Jhary so stupid sometimes?

  "A possibility." Jhary rubbed at his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes, too, were rimmed red and had a tendency to stare wildly this way and that.

  "A possibility, aye. But we must leave here. You are right.

  We must see if only Castle Erorn is affected. We must see if anywhere else suffers what we suffer. If we can get the sky ship from the courtyard. . . . The snow has melted from it now.... We must go to ... I must..." He stopped himself. "I'm babbling now. It's the weariness. But we must seek out a friend—Prince Yurette, perhaps—ask him if he has felt the same impulses."

  "You proposed that yesterday," Corum reminded him.

  "And we agreed, did we not?"

 
"Aye." Corum began to stumble back toward the castle gate. "We agreed. And we agreed the day before yesterday, also."

  "We must make preparations. Will Rhalina stay here or come with us?"

  "Why do you ask? It is impertinent . . ." Again Corum controlled himself. "Forgive me, Jhary."

  "I do."

  "What force is it that could possess us so? Turn old friends against each other? Make me desire, sometimes, to slay the woman I love most in the world?"

  "We shall never discover that if we remain here," Jhary told him rather sharply.

  "Very well, then," Corum said. "We'll take the air boat.

  We'll seek Prince Yurette. Do you feel strong enough to fly the craft?"

  "I'll find the strength."

  The world turned gray as the snow continued to melt.

  All the trees seemed gray and the hills seemed gray and the grass seemed gray. Even Castle Erorn's marvellously tinted towers took on a gray appearance and the walls within were also gray.

  In the late afternoon, before sunset, Rhalina called for Corum and for Jhary. "Come," she shouted. "Sky ships approach us. They are behaving strangely."

  They gathered at one of the windows facing the sea.

  In the distance two of the beautiful metallic sky ships were wheeling and diving as if in a complicated dance, skimming close to the gray ocean and then hurling themselves upward at great speed. It seemed that each was attempting to get behind the other.

  Something glittered.

  Rhalina gasped.

  "They are using those weapons—those fearful weapons with which they destroyed King Lyr and his army! They are fighting, Corum!"

  "Aye," he said grimly. "They are fighting."

  One of the ships suddenly staggered in the air and seemed to come to a complete stop. Then it turned over and they saw tiny figures falling from it. It righted itself. It drove upward at the other craft, trying to ram it, but the craft managed to dodge just in tune and the damaged craft continued on its course, rising higher and higher into the gray sky until it was only a shadow among the clouds.

  It came back, diving at its enemy, which, this time, was struck in its stern and began to spiral down toward the sea.

  The other ship plunged straight into the ocean and disappeared. There was a little foam on the sea where it had entered.

  The remaining sky ship corrected its own fall and began to limp through the sky toward the land, making for the cliff across the bay from Castle Erorn, changing course in a jerky movement and heading straight for the castle.

  "Does he mean to strike us?" Jhary asked.

  Corum shrugged. He had come to see Castle Erorn as a haunted prison rather than as his ancient home. If the sky ship smashed into Erorn's towers it would almost be as if it smashed into his own skull, driving the terrifying fury from his brain.

  But the craft turned aside at the last minute and began to circle to land on the gray sward just beyond the gates.

  It landed badly and Corum saw a wisp of smoke rise from its stern and curl sluggishly in the air. Men began to clamber from the ship. They were undoubtably Vadhagh, tall men with flowing cloaks and mail byrnies of gold or silver, conical helms on their heads, slender swords in their hands. They marched through the slush toward the castle.

  Corum was the first to recognize the man who led them.

  "It is Bwydyth! Bwydyth-a-Horn! He must need our help.

  Come, let us greet him."

  Jhary was more reluctant, but he said nothing as he followed Corum and Rhalina to the gates.

  Bwydyth and his men were already ascending the path up the hill toward the gates when Corum opened them himself and stepped out, calling their friend's name.

  "Greetings, Bwydyth! You are welcome here to Castle Erorn."

  Bwydyth-a-Horn made no answer, but continued to march up the hill.

  AH at once Corum Jhaelen Irsei felt suspicion well in him. He dismissed it. The effect of the shadow lurking in his brain. He smiled and spread his arms wide.

  "Bwydyth! It is I—Corum."

  Jhary muttered, "Best ready yourself to draw your sword. Rhalina—you had best go inside."

  She gave him a startled look. "Why? It is Bwydyth. Not an enemy."

  He merely stared at her for a moment. She lowered her eyes and did as he suggested.

  Corum fought against the anger within him. He breathed hard. "If Bwydyth means to fight, then he will find ..."

  "Corum!" Jhary said urgently. "Keep your head clear. It is possible that we can reason with Bwydyth, for I suspect he suffers from what we have been suffering from." He called out. "Bwydyth, old friend. We are not your enemies.

  Come, enjoy the peace of Castle Erorn. There's no need for strifing here. We have all known these sudden furies and we must gather to discuss their nature and their cause, decide how best to discover their source."

  But Bwydyth marched on up the hill toward them, and his men, grim-faced and pale, marched on behind him.

  Their cloaks curled in the thin breeze which had begun to blow, the steel of their swords did not shine but was as gray as the landscape.

  "Bwydyth!" It was Rhalina crying from behind them.

  "Do not give in to that which has seized your mind. Do not fight with Corum. He is your friend. Corum found the means to bring you back to your homeland."

  Bwydyth stopped. His men stopped. Bwydyth glared up at them. "Is that another thing I must hate you for, Corum?"

  "Another thing? What else do you hate me for, Bwydyth?"

  "Why for—for your dreadful deformities. You are unsightly. For your alliance with demons. For your choice of women and your choice of friends. For your cowardice."

  "Cowardice, eh?" Jhary growled and reached for his own sword.

  Corum stopped him, "Bwydyth, we know that a sickness of the mind has come upon us. It makes us hate those we love, seek to kill those whom we most desire to live. Plainly this sickness is on you and it is on us, but if we give in to it, we give in to whatever it is which wants us to destroy each other. This suggests a common enemy—something we must seek out and slay."

  Bwydyth frowned, lowering his sword. "Aye. I have thought the same. Sometimes I have wondered why the fighting has started everywhere. Perhaps you are right, Corum. Aye, we will talk." He began to turn to address his company. "Men, we will . . ."

  One of the nearest swordsmen lunged forward with a snarl of hatred. "Fool! I knew you for a fool! You are proven a fool! You die for your foolishness." The sword passed through the byrnie and buried itself in Bwydyth's body. He cried out, groaned, tried to stagger toward his friends, and then fell face down in the melting snow.

  "So the poison is acting swiftly," said Jhary.

  Already another man had fallen on the swordsman who had struck Bwydyth down. Two more were slain in almost as many heartbeats. Cries of rage and hatred burst from the lips of the rest. Blood spurted in the gray evening light.

  The civilized folk of Gwlas-cor-Gwrys were butchering each other without reason. They were fighting amongst themselves like so many carrion dogs over a carcass.

  The Third Chapter

  Chaos Returned

  Soon the winding path to the castle was strewn with corpses. Four men were left on their feet when something seemed to seize their heads and turn them to glare with blazing eyes at Corum and Jhary, who still stood by the gates. The four began to move up the hill again. Corum and Jhary readied their swords.

  Corum felt the anger rising in his own head, shaking his body with its intensity. It was a relief to be able to vent it at last. With a chilling yell he rushed down the hill toward the attackers, his bright sword raised, Jhary behind him.

  One of the swordsmen went down before Corum's first thrust. These men were gaunt-faced and exhausted. It looked as if they had not slept for many days. Normally Corum would have known pity for them, would have tried to disarm them or merely wound them. But his own rage made him strike to kill.

  And soon they were all dead.

  And Corum
Jhaelen Irsei stood over their corpses and panted like a mad wolf, the blood dripping from his blade onto the gray ground. He stood thus for some moments until a small sound reached his ears. He turned. Jhary-a-Conel was already kneeling beside the man who had made the sound. It was Bwydyth-a-Horn and he was not quite dead.

  "Corum . . ." Jhary looked up at his friend. "He is calling your name, Corum."

  His fury abated for the moment, Corum went to Bwydyth's side. "Aye, friend," he murmured gently.

  "I tried, Corum, to fight what was inside my skull. I tried for many days, but eventually it defeated me. I am sorry, Corum ..."

  "We have all suffered the sickness."

  "When rational I decided to come to you in the hope that you would know of a cure. At least, I thought, I could warn you ..."

  "And that is why your ship came to be in these parts, eh?"

  "Aye. But we were followed. There was a battle and it brought back all my rage again. The whole Vadhagh race is at war, Corum—and Lywm-an-Esh is no better. . . . Strife governs all..." Bwydyth's voice grew still fainter.

  "Do you know why, Bwydyth?"

  "No . . . Prince Yurette hoped to discover. . . . He, too, was overcome by the berserk fury. . . . He—died ....

  Reason is banished. .. . We are in the grip of demons. ...

  Chaos is returned.... We should have remained in our city.."

  Corum nodded. "It is Chaos' work, without doubt. We became complacent too quickly, we ceased to be wary—and Chaos struck. But it cannot be Mabelrode, for if he came to our plane he would be destroyed as Xiombarg was destroyed. He must be working through an agency. But who?"

  "Glandyth?" whispered Jhary. "Could it be the Earl of Krae? All Chaos needs is one willing to serve it. If the will exists, the power is given."

  Bwydyth-a-Horn began to cough. "Ah, Corum, forgive me for this . . ."

  "There is nought to forgive, since we are equally possessed by something which is beyond our power to fight."

  "Find what it is, Corum . . ." Bwydyth's eyes burned near-black as he raised himself on one elbow. "Destroy it if you can.... Revenge me... revenge us all..."